When Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb . . . “And why is it granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed it she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.” Luke 1:45
This was no ordinary baby—everybody agreed about that.
His father’s inability to speak, so sudden in onset, and now so suddenly undone, signaled great things to come for those who saw it. The very sight of Elizabeth—wrinkles, gray hair, and all—waddling about with her swollen belly like a barely-wed bride, was the talk of the town. When was the last time something like this happened? Does the name Sarah ring a bell? Not since the days of the patriarchs had something like this come about, a sure sign that a new age was at hand. Would the “God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” henceforth be known as the “God of Zechariah, Elizabeth, and John”? It could happen!
John, the name they originally protested because it had no family pedigree, was obviously divinely ordained. They didn’t call him that: in Hebrew, the name is Yochanan—“the Lord is gracious.” Very fitting, because the Lord’s hand was on him (vs. 66) in such an obvious way that his friends and neighbors probably watched him intently while he was growing up—parsed his every word, noted his every pious action, and nodded sagely to each other when he wandered off into the desert to join the Essene community: “Mark my words—we haven’t seen the last of that young man.” It’s very likely that their hopes and their attention followed him into the desert and seemed close to fulfillment when he appeared again, calling sinners to repent. Could this be the Messiah?
But did any of them know of his encounter, while yet unborn, with the gracious hand of the Lord? The 
incarnate Lord, that is, barely formed enough to possess an actual hand. Only John’s mother knew at the time: imagine her sitting quietly in her own house with her six-month belly, expecting a visit from her young cousin. Word had come to her of a band of pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem, and Mary among them. With news. Now her ears perk up at the sound of a young woman’s voice calling her name. And then she bolts upright, clutching her sides.
She’d felt the baby kicking for some time now—the normal twitches and jerks that every expectant mother feels. But this is different, not a random jerk of an arm or a leg, but a whole-body, intentional movement. He springs, he dances—he may even have turned a somersault. She holds her breath as Mary’s voice comes closer, and when the young woman enters the house, slim and breathless, Elizabeth is so full of her own news she doesn’t even pause to embrace her. Words bubble up, fill her mouth, pour out: Blessed are you, above all women . . . the mother of my Lord . . . My baby heard your voice, and do you know what he did?
Mary stands there, the mother of our Lord, speechless with surprise. First at the sight of the old pregnant lady, and then at what she said.
In days to come, she will not always feel blessed: eyebrows will raise, whispers will increase the bigger she grows. The joyful wedding she had always hoped for will be hasty and quiet, if Joseph agrees to take her. But those are only the obvious, predictable inconveniences. She doesn’t yet anticipate giving birth anywhere but her mother’s house, not in a smelly cave 90 miles from home.
But blessed is she who believed in the fulfillment, though she doesn’t know what fulfillment will look like. Her own heart fills with spilling-out words: My soul magnifies the Lord . . . David could have sung this song; it’s all about the Almighty showing strength, scattering the proud, bringing down the mighty and exalting the humble, filling the hungry, sending away the complacent. But where is all this happening? All we see is two women clutching hands, prophesying giddily to each other with one bouncing baby between them, destined to become a superstar. Much more famous, for a while, than his embryonic cousin, before whom he dances like David before the Ark.
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